“In addition, they have pioneered the technique of distributing physical injury amongst their allies to prevent a serious or fatal blow afflicting any one person.”
Here it is, the moment at which the travellers might baulk.
“Each of us was called on this journey. All of us have already proved our worth, each necessary at various stages. We cannot tell what else we might be called on to do, but we must take comfort in the fact that the Father has not finished with us yet. We must all assume we are, each one, about to see action. None of us is here as a mere spectator. At the very least, that action will entail giving of our essenza”—his eyes flicked to Anomer, as if reassuring himself that he had the unfamiliar word right—“and being prepared to receive wounds on behalf of others. I will not ask whether there are any here afraid of this: we all are. But I will also not ask if anyone here wishes to resile. You had that opportunity in the House of the Gods when you travelled magically to a place of your own choosing. You returned, knowing what awaited you. Therefore you elected to continue to the end.”
Assorted nods from grim faces.
“We also have a number of gifted swordsmen in our midst. In my prime I was accounted the best in Roudhos with a blade, and I am still in my prime.” He smiled bleakly. “I know tricks that short-lived swordsmen, no matter how gifted and trained, do not, and I have used them in battle. The Duke of Roudhos was—is—one of my pupils and has acquitted himself well during this adventure, as young Mustar can testify.”
The young son of Halieutes nodded his head enthusiastically. So Cyclamere had that story from the boy, Noetos thought, not entirely displeased.
“Captain Duon is a trained soldier, modest in his claims regarding his ability, but I have seen him work the forms and would be honoured to have him guard my lord’s back and those of my lord’s children.”
Clever: the captain’s grim face cleared for a moment.
“Anomer is good with a blade,” Seren put in, unaware of the soldier’s discipline requiring silence as a battle plan unfolded. Not that the miner would have cared much for the rule had he known it.
“Aye, he is not forgotten,” Cyclamere said. “Nor is his sister. Arathé will need to wait until we liberate a blade from inside the fortress, but if circumstances require it, she can also fight. It was part of the reason she was selected to come here as a servant of the Undying Man in the first place, after all.”
Setting off this whole venture, Noetos finished morosely.
“Others among you can wield a weapon at a pinch, but I would encourage you not to arm yourselves unless in protection of your own life—and even then, think twice.” Noetos smiled, pre-empting the aphorism to follow. “A weapon in the hands of the untutored has no handle but blades at both ends. You will likely do more damage to friend than to foe.
“The rest of you will enter Andratan without weapon or magic. But you are not defenceless. You are quick of mind, adaptable, able to think on your feet. You are leaders, but also able to obey commands without question.”
Was that a slight glance in Noetos’s own direction?
“I speak as a veteran of many battles: had I been in possession of soldiers with your talent, I would never have lost a single one.”
It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Noetos imagined he could see a brightening of countenance in some of those around him.
“And now, our two main weapons, those we must protect at all costs. I refer to the huanu stone carried by the Duke of Roudhos and the special abilities of Lenares the cosmographer.”
Darkness or no, Noetos could see the girl’s grin from five paces away. Could almost feel the heat of her pleasure radiating outwards. Truly, Lenares does not care if she lives or dies, as long as she is praised.
“That is the list of our assets. Now, our strategy. We have two weapons: a stone to abrogate magic and the vision to guide it. Both are essential. Therefore we will become two teams, each tasked with the protection of one of the weapons. Arathé will hedge her father about with magic, and will be accompanied by my own sword. Bregor, Consina, Seren and Cylene complete the team, commanded by the Duke of Roudhos. Lenares will be protected by Anomer’s magic and his sword, and will have at her back the blade of Captain Duon. Torve, Sauxa, Moralye, Sautea and Mustar will go with her. Captain Duon is charged with leading this second team. Duon and Arathé, as former spikes of the devil-magician Husk, can speak together mind to mind. They will therefore keep the teams in close contact, even if they should be separated.”
Moralye cleared her throat. “What if we find Stella or Kannwar here? Either one, or both together? Do we invite them to be part of our team? How could we stop them?”
“You’ll need to make that judgment in the context of the situation,” Cyclamere responded. “Remember, your brain is your weapon. A good decision may undo all the stratagems of the enemy.”
“But what do we do when we get in there?” Consina asked, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice.
Cyclamere frowned momentarily. Noetos could see the word patience forming on his lips.
“We cannot devise a comprehensive set of tactics,” he said. “Too much is unknown about the situation within the fortress. Who is in control? Husk? Umu? The Undying Man? What are their desires, that we might thwart them?”
He began to pace. A bad sign, Noetos thought. My war leader is unable to keep his unease under control.
“The ultimate task set us is to drive the Daughter back through the hole in the world and seal it behind her. If this task was beyond us, the Father would not have so painstakingly assembled us and brought us here. I deem we have one other necessary task to perform: the rebinding or death of Husk.”
Murmurs of agreement from his listeners.
“We may have a third task, one forced upon us by recent events. Until a few hours ago the Undying Man was our ally and perhaps our most important weapon. We appear to have lost him now. It cannot be helped. Indeed, I never factored him into our plans: such a one is above any plan we might have conceived. But Stella is a grievous loss. Immortal, magician in her own right: if she is in this fortress, we should consider rescuing her and putting her abilities to use in our cause.”
“Consider it?” Sauxa said, indignant. “Consider? Surely her safety ought to be our first concern?”
“Alas, no,” said the swordmaster. “We must not jeopardise the achievement of our ultimate goal. Indeed, Stella or anyone else in this fortress tonight must be sacrificed without hesitation if it brings us closer to defeating Umu.” Cyclamere lowered his voice. “You are supremely gifted men and women. You have pride, and are familiar with command. You make your own decisions and expect others to follow you. But know this: I am in charge here tonight. I will have your obedience, or you will wait for us outside the walls of the fortress.”
He waited until fourteen voices had given their assent.
“Very well,” he said, and broke cover, setting out for Andratan with long strides.
At the huge wooden gate, Cyclamere nodded to Noetos. “In the name of the Duke of Roudhos, open the gates!” cried the swordmaster, and rapped on the wood with the hilt of his sword.
A beat; then the gates swung silently inwards, opening on darkness and two small figures.
“It would have been far more sensible to sneak in somewhere,” Consina breathed to Bregor.
Noetos groaned. In the silence there was no hope of the words remaining unheard.
“Sautea, Mustar, you are transferred to Noetos’s team,” Cyclamere barked. “Consina and Bregor will stand down.”
“Stand down? What do you mean?”
“I mean you will wait outside the gate. You will not enter Andratan. We must work together as a team.”
“But—” Bregor began.
“Enough,” Noetos said. “Must I fight you to enforce discipline?”
“You were just waiting for an excuse!” Bregor shouted. “Revenge for your wife!”
The fisherman released his anger. It surge
d down his arm and into his closed fist at precisely the moment it met the Hegeoman’s jaw. Consina squeaked as Bregor crumpled to the ground.
You are right, my friend, Noetos acknowledged to the unconscious man. I was waiting for an excuse and you were stupid enough to give it to me.
Noetos glanced up to see the two small figures advancing through the gate. Damn you, Bregor, for the distraction. It wasn’t until one of the figures spoke that he knew who they were, and even then he wasn’t entirely sure.
“Welcome, my friends, to my home. Come in, won’t you?”
Kannwar’s front doors swung back into the wide hallway. The wind outside stirred the two small torches offering the only light, and one of them sputtered and went out. Stella squinted into the darkness; it only needed a simple head count to work out who stood there.
“You couldn’t keep them away,” she whispered. “Is there anything you can control?”
He snorted, then held up his hand for silence. “I’m having more success than the fisherman,” he said after a moment.
“Than a hot-tempered hick from a fishing village? You ought to be,” Stella said blandly.
He ignored her and strode forward. “Welcome, my friends, to my home!” he called to his former companions. “Come in, won’t you?”
“I wonder how they escaped your trap,” Stella said, looking for any needle she could find. “Maybe you should have killed them all.”
“And maybe I should kill you,” he retorted. He waved his hand and her throat seized up.
Strangling me? she wondered, strangely unconcerned. He can’t kill me by depriving me of air, can he? Her immortal blood would keep her alive somehow. Curse it. No, she could still breathe. But she could not talk, she discovered, when she tried to ask her captor what he had done to her.
“Why should we surrender ourselves to your hospitality, Kannwar?” Noetos called out. “We don’t trust you.”
Stella applauded the man’s courage, if not his wisdom. You have to find a way of allying yourself to the Destroyer, she wanted to tell him. You’ll never get close enough to Umu to make an end of her if you don’t.
“I told you to come in,” the Destroyer said. “If that sounded like you had a choice, I apologise.”
He closed his fist and at least half those standing outside the gates were jerked forward as though on the end of strings. Walking like marionettes, they made their obviously reluctant way inside the gate.
A bell rang behind Stella. She couldn’t talk, but she could turn her head, and saw a boy hammering at a bell with all the energy he had.
“I don’t need reinforcements, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Kannwar said. “I’ve called all my servants and soldiers to defend the keep from imminent attack.”
You want chaos, she guessed. You don’t care who survives, as long as you can creep up unseen on whoever sits atop this fortress.
After struggling to hold back their fellows, the rest of the travellers followed them through the gates and into the hallway.
“That’s better. I’m disappointed you seem to have turned against me, especially since I am the world’s best hope of getting rid of our remaining gods. You do know why I left you in the Godhouse, don’t you?”
“I’m sure you can supply us with any number of plausible reasons,” Noetos said, striding up to the Destroyer. “Just as you can take on any disguise you like. What’s this one: foppish Malayu courtier?” He looked the Lord of Bhrudwo up and down. “Doubt it’ll catch on. Who in their right mind cares for fashions worn by two-thousand-year-old cadavers? Now step out of the way, yesterday’s man, and let us do what you will not.”
Stella’s blood sang as, beside her, the Destroyer’s blood boiled—almost literally, so hot did it grow at these words. But by some superhuman degree of self-control he battened his temper down and waved them ahead.
“Go on then,” he said absently.
“Stella,” the fisherman said, “are you coming?”
No, said Leith’s voice. You have unfinished business here.
“She’s not talking to you, my friend. She has more interesting people to talk to. Be on your way and mind you don’t damage my house.”
Wisely Noetos said nothing in reply to the Destroyer’s words. He bent his head close to Captain Duon’s.
“Which way?” Stella heard the fisherman whisper.
The Destroyer groaned. “And with this the Most High hopes to redeem his mistakes. The fool is more out of touch than ever. The god you’re looking for sits atop the Tower of Farsight. Take any passage: they’ll all get you there in the end.”
He flicked his hand lazily and released those in thrall to him.
* * *
Noetos could stand no more of the fatuous baiting from the man. With a curt signal he chose the stairway at the far end of the hall.
“I don’t know what that bell means,” he said to Duon, “but it must be some sort of summons. Soon the corridors will be filled with soldiers. Swords out.”
“Should we split into our two teams?” Duon asked him.
“Not yet,” Cyclamere said. “But we must hurry. Get as far as we can towards the Tower of Farsight before we encounter opposition and have to start spending lives.”
They didn’t run, but they still moved quickly up the stairs and down the first wide hallway to the right. Noetos looked twice at an odd suit of armour standing in an embayment, obviously decorative rather than functional given its enormous height and girth.
“Why did he leave us alive?” Duon asked him.
“At a guess, I’d say he wants as much fighting as possible while he deals with Umu in his own way.”
“So why not stand back and let him?”
A good question. “In case of what might happen if he fails. Or succeeds.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We don’t have to understand,” Noetos said. “We’re soldiers. We’ve been given our orders. Let’s seek to carry them out.”
The hallway ended in a locked and barred door. Barred from their side, fortunately, but the lock defeated their attempts to fiddle it open.
“Break it down,” Noetos said, pointing to Duon and Cyclamere. “We’ll charge it together.”
The swordmaster pursed his lips but did not offer a comment. The three men took ten steps back into the corridor.
A shout rang from behind them. Soldiers.
Cylene put her hand on a door in the left wall. “I’ll just look in here, shall I?” she asked.
“Now!” Noetos called. The three men crashed into the door, shoulders forward, and ended in a heap on the floor. The door had rattled in its frame but no more.
“No time for another try,” Duon said, picking himself up. Ten grey-liveried men were almost upon them.
“Follow Cylene!” Noetos ordered the others, as the swordsmen readied themselves.
The grey-clothed men halted just beyond reach. “Surrender,” the oldest of them barked.
“Certainly,” Noetos growled, and the man nodded. “We accept your parole.”
“No, you southern fool, I meant for you to surrender.”
“Ah,” said Noetos, delighted the old trick had worked to unsettle the man. “Sorry. I’m not used to northerners with the power of speech.” He made ready to charge.
“Noetos!” came a cry from behind him.
Damn you, Cylene! the fisherman thought, then smiled as he felt a breeze on his back. “Again, my apologies,” he said to the soldiers. “We’ll talk more about surrender later.” He spun on his heel and dashed for the open door.
With it slammed and locked behind him, Duon and Cyclamere, he leaned on the wood and allowed himself a moment to recover. They stood in a small courtyard open to the stars—or what stars there were: a light mist had rolled in, obscuring most of the familiar constellations. To his right was an arched window, slats broken and thrown wide.
“Thank you, Cylene,” he said.
She dimpled at him. “Would have been for nothing if t
he key hadn’t still been in the lock.”
“Onward,” Duon said, without his usual diffidence. “The men behind us will figure it out. Eventually.”
It’s time for something to be explained to you, Leith said to her.
I am listening. She rubbed her throat as she trudged after the Destroyer. It’s not as if I can do anything else.
Do you remember the Hall of Fealty? he asked her.
Of course. We sat there not ten years ago, rain beating on the roof, listening to the petitions of the hill men of the Veridian Borders. One of the most boring afternoons I’ve ever spent.
Indeed. The voice seemed amused. Do you recall the first time we were there?
Oh yes, she did. Leith had taken her there the year after the Falthan War had ended, to honour her before the Knights of Fealty. She’d endured as mixed a reception there as anywhere else and Leith had been distraught. “They don’t honour you,” he’d said as they lay together that night, “and yet you were the true hero of the war.”
“They can’t honour me,” she had replied. “I upset their simple notion of a black-and-white world. Someone who served evil yet achieved the purposes of the Most High.”
She’d believed that, back then. It had taken long decades of gritted-teeth endurance for that belief to be eroded away. She’d served no one’s purposes but her own, and failed miserably at that. Leith had risked his life to save her. She’d been nothing but trouble.
Kannwar planted Deorc in our camp as a spy, to confound our plans. The Most High planted a spy in Kannwar’s camp. Do you know who she was?
“Keep up, my queen, or I will bind you,” said the Destroyer.
A troop of soldiers ran past them, saluting as they went.
“Or perhaps detail others to carry you,” he added.
Stella picked up her pace.
I see, she said. I am about to die, my unlooked-for blessing coming after all these years. You’ve been sent here to ease my passing, to tell me things to lighten my heart.
I’m lying then? His voice sounded hurt.
N-no, not lying, she stammered out.
You were the Most High’s thorn in his enemy’s side. As you are again. It was your virtue as much as your vice that saw you enslaved. Yes, you desired darkness. But darkness could not have ensnared you unless you decided to trust it, to treat it as though it was light.
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